A Book Of Bullshit I Make Instead Of Sleeping Oops

I DIDN'T FORGET

"Show a character's jealousy through body language and actions. Do not use any dialogue that refers to the emotion."  

emotion wasnt the last word of the prompt but i cant remember what was so

oh well

some of you might see this update two times in one day, once in the morning and once at night bc usually i post these 6-7 am ish my time but rn it's about 5pm so if i post at my usual time tomorrow some of you might see two prompts in one day

i needed an excuse to practice counting in Tagalog

written in 2nd person Blue's perspective

Tense, you watch as your beautiful Punkish sits in the arms of someone else. You, but... reversed.

Glowing red eyes, not blue.

Red lights on his headphones.

Red band on his ring.

Red light on his glove.

You don't like him.

You breathe deeply, forcing yourself to ignore the ropes that hold your hands behind your head, or the series of ropes holding down your long legs.

You love tying up Punkish, but being bound makes you anxious. You like to be in charge. You're quiet, but with Punkish you are his dominant man, the one he will do anything for.

You bite your lip in distaste as Punkish allows the reverse version of you to kiss him. You call this reverse version Red Sun, the opposite of your name, Blue Moon.

You hate him.

The thought of him makes you tense and angry, and only Punkish can calm you down.

You don't realize that your hands are clenched in tight fists until you realize how hard your nails are digging into your palms.

You need to calm down.

You close your eyes, counting slowly to ten in your native tongue.

Ichi.

Ni.

San.

Yon.

Go.

Roku.

Nana.

Hachi.

Kyuu.

Juu.

Calmer, you count again, but to twenty in Tagalog.

Isa.

Dalawa.

Tatlo.

Apat.

Lima.

Anim.

Pito.

Walo.

Siyam.

Sampu.

Labing-Isa.

Labindalawa.

Labintatlo.

Labing-apat.

Labimlima.

Labing-anim.

Labimpito.

Labinwalo.

Labinsiyam.

Dalawampu.

You will not scream.

You will not scream.

You will not scream.

You swallow the aggression that threatens to escape your mouth and count a final time, this time in English. You use it as much as possible, but it's so hard for you. If you'd started learning it at a younger age, maybe you'd be better at it, but there was no appeal, and its grammar and spelling are the stupidest things. Still, you count to thirty.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten.

Eleven.

Twelve.

Thirteen.

Fourteen.

Fifteen.

Sixteen.

Seventeen.

Eighteen.

Nineteen.

Twenty.

Twenty-one.

Twenty-two.

Twenty-three.

Twenty-four.

Twenty-five.

Twenty-six.

Twenty-seven.

Twenty-eight.

Twenty-nine.

Thirty.

You are calm.

You are calm.

You are calm.

You are not calm.

You want to scream.

You are furious.

You strain madly, panic welling in your chest as you realize how absolutely helpless you are. You want Punkish. You want him to stay away from that asshole, Red. You won't let Red kiss your uke, Punkish is yours.

But there's nothing you can do.

So you scream.

counting yeet